


Corpus Delicti

by onemechanicalalligator



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Implied/referenced crime, M/M, Memories, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Therapy, Trials, Triggers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemechanicalalligator/pseuds/onemechanicalalligator
Summary: This isn’t completely out of left field. But he’s been so careful to avoid triggers, changing the subject every time his old job comes up, avoiding certain kinds of movies and TV shows, blocking specific people on social media. And it’s been fine until now. He doesn’t understand how something so simple and unassuming, so sweet and gentle as a therapy dog, can reduce him to this, take away his breath and commandeer his thoughts.
Relationships: Abed Nadir/Jeff Winger
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Corpus Delicti

**Author's Note:**

> Pierce has no place in this story, so I didn't include him <3

**one**

The day starts normally. They’re in the study room, everyone arguing about one thing or another, when the Dean enters in a newsboy outfit holding a newspaper and a black dog on a leash.

“Extra, extra, Dean all about it!” he cries, holding the paper up. “Next semester, Greendale is going to offer courses for training service animals!” He nods down at the dog next to him. “To celebrate, I brought Muffin to come say hi.” He bends down and boops noses with the black lab. “She’s a therapy dog at the hospital. You can come pet her if you want!”

Everyone squeals and gets up except Jeff, who is sitting right next to the Dean and the dog. He’s staring at the dog, thinking, _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, this can’t be happening._ Except it is, because there are only so many therapy dogs named Muffin in Greendale, and Jeff thinks he might be sick. 

He feels his heart start to race, and he tries to focus on his notes, his friends, the table, _anything_ but the dog next to him and the flood of memories that is currently pouring into his brain, saturating it, dissolving every other thought, trapping him. 

Before he can really register what’s happening, Jeff stands up. He moves so quickly that his chair goes flying, and without a word he flees the room, speed walking until he gets to the hall and then running, running, _running,_ and he doesn’t stop until he gets to his car. It takes him four tries to press the small button on his keyfob, and one of the times he accidentally hits the alarm, startling him so badly he slips on some gravel and falls to his knees. His jeans rip, but the sting of the scrape on one of his hands helps to bring things back into focus, and he’s able to shakily stand up again.

Jeff finally manages to get in the car and lock the doors from the inside, and then he drops his head to his hands and leans against the steering wheel. He starts to hyperventilate and tries to get a hold of himself, but soon his breaths melt into sobs, loud and out of control, gasping, painful, ceaseless. 

He can’t stop what’s happening in his mind, the way his thoughts just keep circling back to the dog and the courthouse and the photos and the witnesses. He knows, somewhere in his head, that he’s in his car. That he’s safe. But he can smell the wood in the courtroom, can hear the shuffling of files and papers, the rustling of the judge’s robes, the banging of his gavel. 

Jeff cries until he can’t breathe at all anymore, and then he closes his eyes and bangs his forehead on the steering wheel and tries to shut off the deluge of images rushing through his brain. But it just _won’t stop,_ and he doesn’t know what else to do, what comes next.

This isn’t completely out of left field. But he’s been so careful to avoid triggers, changing the subject every time his old job comes up, avoiding certain kinds of movies and TV shows, blocking specific people on social media. And it’s been fine until now. He doesn’t understand how something so simple and unassuming, so sweet and gentle as a _therapy dog,_ can reduce him to _this,_ take away his breath and commandeer his thoughts. 

He’s startled then by a loud tapping at his window, and he peeks between his fingers to see the whole study group congregated outside of his car, and he can’t, he just _can’t,_ not right now. So he slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone, typing out a quick text to Abed.

_JEFF: I can’t_

His trembling thumb accidentally hits send, and he curses and starts to send a follow-up text when Abed replies.

_ABED: I’ll get them out of here. Do you want me to leave you alone, too?_

Jeff lets out a breath, appreciating, not for the first time, that his boyfriend can basically read his mind.

_JEFF: You can stay_

_JEFF: Please stay_

It’s not that he wants to talk about it, not even with Abed. He just knows doesn’t want to be alone right now. He looks through his fingers again, keeping his head low, and when he sees his friends walk away, he unlocks the doors. A moment later, Abed gets in on the passenger side.

“Sorry,” he breathes, gently placing a hand on Jeff’s back. “I told them they didn’t all need to come, but you know how they are. They were worried. Are you okay?”

Jeff doesn’t say anything, just shrugs his shoulders. Then he takes a big breath, lets it out, and sits up, turning toward Abed. He knows what he looks like: face pale, eyes red and watery, tear streaks across his cheeks, nose running. Unable to focus his eyes. He can’t believe he’s letting Abed see him like this. It’s proof that his brain isn’t functioning properly.

“Can I touch you?” Abed asks, his voice still soft, and Jeff nods. Abed reaches for his hand and holds it between both of his, then leans forward and touches his forehead to Jeff’s.

Jeff expects him to say something, to ask what happened, to try to make him talk about it, but he doesn’t. He just sits with Jeff, massaging one hand and then switching to do the other one. When he finishes, he takes both of Jeff’s hands in both of his and holds them until Jeff is ready to speak.

“It was the dog,” Jeff finally mutters. He doesn’t move his head, and neither does Abed. “I know that dog.”

“Okay,” Abed says carefully. “Did something happen with the dog?

“She’s a therapy dog for the county, not just the hospital,” Jeff explains, his voice hoarse from crying. “Or, she _was,_ at least. She accompanied witnesses in the courtroom sometimes.” 

Abed squeezes Jeff’s hands but doesn’t say anything.

“Do you think you could drive us home?” Jeff asks shakily, avoiding Abed’s eyes. “I mean, if you even want to come over. You don’t have to. I’m not— Sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Jeff’s speech speeds up, and he can feel his heart racing.

“Yeah, of course,” Abed says quickly. “No problem. Here, switch places with me.” They both get out of the car and trade spots.

Jeff stays silent as Abed adjusts the seat and mirrors, then turns the key in the ignition.

“I do want to come over to your place, by the way,” he says gently. They make the drive in silence, but at least Jeff can breathe.

**two**

_It’s week three of the trial and the next witness called is a child, a boy, aged 12. He walks to the witness stand accompanied by a black lab, a support animal provided by county services. Jeff’s seen her before. Her name is Muffin. When the boy sits behind the microphone, Muffin lays down next to him, in petting range. She stays there, calm and silent, while Jeff and the prosecution take their turns questioning the boy. The prosecuting attorney lets it slip that the boy has autism, a fact the jury isn’t supposed to know, in case it sways their view of him and his testimony. Jeff objects, and it’s taken off the record, but it’s a formality. They know now._

_Jeff feels like a monster every time he has to redirect the boy to the subject at hand. Every time the boy pauses to pet the dog. Jeff has known this boy for three years, since Jeff first took the case, and he’s interviewed him dozens of times. It was never comfortable, he never felt_ good _about it, but now, for some reason, he just feels dirty. Out of line. Who calls a 12 year old witness in a trial like this?_

_He’s not the first child Jeff has called in this trial, and he won’t be the last. Jeff struggles to push down the nausea churning in his stomach, the stiffness of his muscles. The guilt that surely must be boring a hole in his chest. That must be what’s making it hard for him to breathe._

_The boy and the dog exit the courtroom, and court adjourns for the day. Jeff and his team return to the office to go over the evidence that will be presented next week, a series of pictures, ones that make Jeff’s skin crawl and his ears ring. He practices looking at them, trying to desensitize himself. He doesn’t understand why this is hitting him so hard, why this particular case is suddenly getting under his skin._

_They file the pictures away, and someone passes Jeff a sandwich. He discreetly tosses it in the garbage and pours himself a glass of scotch instead. They work late into the night, preparing, and when Jeff gets home he pours himself another drink, and then another, until he flops down on his bed and falls into a dreamless sleep._

_The next week, Jeff stares at the projected image on a screen high up on the wall, in view of everyone in the courtroom, and feels his stomach turn. He didn’t eat anything this morning because he knew this would happen, he knew what evidence would be presented today, he went over it again last night and yet somehow he still doesn’t feel prepared. He’s gone over everything with his client, discussed the photos directly, but it’s different when they’re huge and unavoidable, when he can hear the gasps and whimpers from the people in the gallery and jury box._

_He counts his breaths as the prosecution details the image, poring over every part of it over the course of half an hour before clicking over to the next photo, just as gruesome, but different enough that it, too, needs to be painstakingly described. He breathes in through his nose for four counts, holds for seven, exhales through his mouth for eight. He does it quietly so no one notices. After the second image, the judge calls for a recess. The members of the jury file out, most of them in tears._

_Jeff has been practicing law for seven years and has been working on this case for the last three. This isn’t his first criminal case, it isn’t his first awful, disturbing, horrific case. And yet somehow this one is different, this time he can’t leave his heart at home, can’t switch off his emotions at the door. This time he feels like he’s being repeatedly punched in the gut, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He agreed to take this client on, he is here to represent her, and that’s what he will do._

_The members of the jury reenter, and this time all of them are carrying little packs of tissues with their binders, and Jeff looks away so they don’t see him staring. They’re a month into this trial, and he wonders how these people are handling it, these people who didn’t ask for this, who probably didn’t even understand what they were getting into when they got the summons in the mail._

**three**

They arrive at Jeff’s condo and he immediately collapses on the couch. He’s never done this when Abed is over; usually he’ll offer him something to drink, or they’ll sit next to each other in front of the TV, or they’ll head to the bedroom to fool around. This time, though, he can’t think straight enough to make any choices. Everything he does is on autopilot while his brain floods with sounds and images, memories, visceral ones that make his chest heavy and his stomach sick. He curls up as small as he can on the couch, feeling like he needs to keep himself from floating away, and Abed appears with one of the pillows from Jeff’s bed. He slips a hand beneath Jeff’s head, and Jeff lifts it enough for Abed to slide the pillow underneath.

Jeff squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that will get some of the pictures out of his mind, but it just makes it worse and he opens them again. Abed is in the chair across from the couch fiddling with a plastic tangle, and the TV is on, but muted. He seems content to stay there, just like that, even though Jeff asked him to come over because he didn’t want to be alone, and a wave of guilt washes over Jeff, adding to all the other unpleasant sensations rushing through his body. He starts to shake violently and takes a sharp breath in, squirming on the couch, trying to anchor himself somehow. Abed glances over and his eyes go wide, and he’s by Jeff’s side in a flash.

“How can I help?” he asks, and Jeff just stares at him, and he wants to ask Abed to hold him, he wants to ask Abed to turn the volume up on the TV so it will distract him, he wants to tell Abed he’s sorry, that he’s embarrassed, that he hates this. 

When he opens his mouth, though, nothing comes out, and he feels like his throat is closing up, and he gasps, not sure whether he’s trying to speak or just to breathe. He feels raw, exposed, vulnerable, and he tries to ignore his skin tingling, tries to push down the instinct to cause himself physical pain, to see if that can snap him out of this. He thinks about getting a drink, seeing if he can quell the overwhelming feelings that way, but it’s eleven in the morning and Abed is right next to him, waiting to help. He feels frustrated, exhausted, terrified.

Abed throws his arms around Jeff, kneeling on the couch next to him and holding him tight, and it takes a second for Jeff to realize he’s crying again, silently, warm tears streaming down his face, dripping down his chin. He lets his head fall against Abed’s chest, lets the wave crash over him, trusting Abed to keep his head above the water, to make sure he can breathe. To keep him safe.

Then he cries loudly, so loud that his throat hurts after, like a baby, or a person grieving. His nose is plugged and his eyes burn, his face is salty and disgusting. He cries until he runs out of tears, until his vision goes all blurry, until he stops wanting to scratch all of his skin off. 

And Abed just holds him, and Jeff is getting his hoodie all wet with his tears, his nose is dripping everywhere, soaking into the fabric, and Abed doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t try to talk to Jeff, doesn’t speak a word, just holds him and waits. Lets Jeff fall completely apart in his arms, allowing him the knowledge that he won’t completely dissolve or disappear, because Abed is right there to pick up the pieces and hold on to them.

Eventually, Jeff stops crying. He relaxes into Abed’s embrace, and Abed runs his fingers through his hair, the way he knows Jeff likes, and softly whispers, _shh, shh, shh._ A comfort, not a command. When Jeff finally lifts his head, Abed leans forward and kisses him softly on the forehead, the jaw, the mouth. He helps Jeff reposition himself so he’s sitting up on the couch, leaning against Abed’s shoulder, and Abed puts one arm around him. With the other, he reaches across to Jeff’s empty hand and offers his own, palm down. Jeff immediately begins to twist and fiddle with Abed’s spinner ring, and it’s familiar, and it’s good.

“I’m sorry,” Jeff murmurs, and he doesn’t have the energy to be as embarrassed as he otherwise would be, but he still feels bad for doing this to Abed, for taking advantage of his kindness without even explaining himself. He lets his eyes fall shut, and he feels Abed press a kiss to his temple.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Abed says. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Jeff whispers, desperate to explain. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean for this to _happen.”_

“Jeff, it’s okay,” Abed says. “I promise.” 

But it’s not, Jeff knows it’s not, he has to tell Abed, no matter how humiliating it is. He needs Abed to know the truth. He needs _someone_ to know the truth.

“The dog,” Jeff says, unsure if he’s starting in the right place, but opting to pick up where he left off in the car. “Muffin. She was there at my last— At my last trial.”

He glances at Abed, who just nods, listening intently. Jeff takes a deep breath. 

“It was horrible,” Jeff mutters. “It was _horrible,_ Abed, and I want to tell you, but I’m scared, because it was just— It was the first time I was ever glad to _lose_ a case. I want to tell you about it, but not if you don’t want to hear. Not if it’s too much.”

“Tell me,” Abed says solemnly. “Please.”

Jeff twists Abed’s ring a few times, rests his head on Abed’s shoulder, and nervously, haltingly, tells him all of it.

“I think this is my fault,” he confides at the end, when it’s all out, and Abed hasn’t left him or anything, at least not yet. “I chose my career path, and I cheated to get there. I think I deserve for it to have ended the way it did. I deserve what happened then, and what happened today.”

“No,” Abed says with certainty. “That’s not right. You didn’t do this. You don’t deserve it.”

“Your perspective is clouded,” Jeff snaps. “Because you like me, and maybe you don’t want to believe what a monster I was. But I _was_ a monster. I _defended_ that woman. And I did that by _choice._ _I deserve this.”_

“Jeff—”

“You don’t have to stay!” he blurts out, words he’s been holding in, words that are urgent and necessary. “You don’t have to take care of me, you don’t— you don’t _owe_ me anything.” He pushes himself away from Abed, until he hits the armrest of the sofa, and then he pulls his knees up in front of him and holds them like a shield.

“Jeff.” Abed’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s clear and blunt enough to make Jeff stop talking. “I’m here because I want to be. I already knew you were a criminal defense attorney. You haven’t said anything that makes me not want to be with you anymore.”

“You knew?” Jeff asks, and frowns, because that’s not what he meant to ask, but there it is.

“Yeah,” Abed says. “You think I never googled you?”

“Oh,” Jeff says faintly. “Right.”

“I’m not with you because I think I owe you anything,” Abed says, “or because you need to be taken care of. I’m here because I want to be. I’m with you because I love you.” 

“You do?” Jeff breathes. They’ve never said this to each other before.

“Yeah,” Abed says, nodding. His face is blank but his eyes are just a little wider than normal, betraying a hint of anxiety.

“Well,” Jeff says, and licks his lips, trying to ignore all the small sounds in the room, the clock and the air conditioner and the cars driving by outside, and focus on Abed. “I love you too.”

“I know,” Abed says with a small smile, and Jeff feels himself smile back.

**four**

_Court is adjourned on Fridays, and Jeff uses those days to catch up on paperwork in his office. This Friday, as soon as five o’clock hits, he races out the door and drives home, stopping at the liquor store for a few bottles of his favorite scotch. Normally, he saves this kind of indulgence for when he wins a case. Tonight, he’s self-medicating and praying to lose._

_He doesn’t even take off his suit when he gets home, just drops down on the couch and kicks his shoes off, loosens his tie, and drinks straight from the bottle until he stops feeling like he’s going to have a panic attack. The thought of dinner crosses his mind, but he’s been skipping meals since this trial started, and now, approaching week five, he’s down to about one a day. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s so disturbed by the subject matter or because he’s falling back into old patterns, trying to feel in control of something, anything. He’s not even sure if he ate anything today, but it doesn’t matter._

_Jeff sets the bottle down and slumps over, head in his hands. His anxiety has melted into an all-consuming sadness, and it washes over him all at once, and he begins to cry. Jeff has never cried over a case before. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, why he’s suddenly like this. What it is about this particular case that has pushed him over the edge. The thought has been plaguing him for weeks now, and he can’t let it go, not without an answer, but he’s afraid maybe there isn’t one._

_He always took such pride in his ability to disconnect himself, to stay at arm’s length, to keep his cool. It’s the only way for a criminal defense attorney to survive. Now, he’s drunk and sobbing so hard he’s started to hiccup, wiping his nose on the sleeve of a $400 suit, getting stuck as he tries to take the jacket off, then losing his balance and falling on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. He’s disgusted with himself._

_He picks the bottle up and keeps drinking through his hiccups, through his tears, sloshing liquid on his shirt and tie. He starts to feel claustrophobic in his clothes and he rips his shirt off, buttons popping off and flying all over the place, and it’s not enough so he starts to scratch at his arms, his stomach, his chest, all the places his skin is crawling. Eventually, he passes out shirtless on the couch, tie still knotted around his neck, without a pillow or a blanket or anyone to call and check on him, see if he’s okay._

_His dreams are violent and disturbing, and at some point he falls off the couch again and it doesn’t wake him up. In the morning he picks himself up off the floor and stumbles to his bedroom, finally stripping off the rest of his clothes but failing to get dressed again. He goes back to the kitchen naked, picks up the second, unopened bottle of scotch, and takes it straight back to his bedroom. He sets it on the nightstand, then goes to the bathroom and throws back some Tylenol, washing it down with water straight from the faucet._

_He gulps water until his head stops pounding quite so hard and his stomach stops churning quite so much, and then he gets into bed. He grabs the remote and turns the TV on to Saturday morning cartoons, muting the sound, and then opens the bottle and takes a drink, and another, and another. He sets it carefully back on the table, turns off the light, and pulls the covers up over his shoulders. His bedroom has blackout curtains, so the only light comes from the bright colors of the TV. Jeff watches until he falls back asleep._

_When he wakes, he drinks until he can sleep again, and that’s how he spends the entire weekend. He doesn’t eat, and he doesn’t cry._

**five**

“I still don’t understand why this case affected me so much,” Jeff says grumpily, having circled back around to discussing the trial with Abed. They’re still on the couch, Jeff lying on his back with his head in Abed’s lap. “I don’t know why this one made me freak out. Or why it still makes me freak out, years later, just because I recognized a dog.”

“It could probably be one of a number of things,” Abed says thoughtfully, running his fingers through Jeff’s hair. “Like, maybe you just had some kind of limit that you finally reached, or maybe you identified with the victim somehow, or maybe it had to do with the mechanics of the case itself. You should probably explore those with a therapist.”

Jeff wrinkles his nose. 

“It seems kind of pathetic to need therapy because of something that happened to somebody else,” he says.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s a thing,” Abed says. “Like, a thing that happens to other people, too. Not just you. Maybe you could make an appointment with your old therapist?”

“Maybe.” 

It still seems wrong, somehow. That he should need therapy to deal with someone else’s trauma, an event that he wasn’t even _there_ for. That he should need therapy to deal with having seen a few disturbing pictures and listened to some harrowing testimonies. 

“What you’re feeling is real,” Abed says. “What happened to you today...I mean, that’s kind of what PTSD does, right? You get triggered by something and it brings you back?”

“I guess...” Jeff says, not at all sure. 

“I can help you,” Abed offers. “We can call together. Or I can call and make the appointment for you.

Jeff thinks about it for a minute. He thinks about Abed’s wet hoodie, and his own thoughts about hurting himself, and the images burned in his brain. He thinks about running out of the library and locking himself in his car. He looks down at his shaking hands.

“It’s under _Sharon,”_ he says, shoving his cell phone into Abed’s hand. “You’d better go in the other room and call right now before I change my mind.

Without missing a beat, Abed takes the phone and vanishes.

Jeff waits on the couch, twisting his hands and bouncing his leg, wondering how to stop feeling like he’s vibrating, like he’s a wind-up toy that won’t turn off. After a few minutes, Abed returns holding a scrap of paper, which he hands to Jeff.

“I got you an appointment tomorrow,” he says, sounding pleased. “She had a cancellation.”

“Oh,” Jeff says. “I mean, okay. I mean, thanks.” He bounces his leg harder, then stands up and starts to pace the length of the living room, wringing his hands. 

It occurs to him that this is what _Abed_ does when he gets anxious, and he wonders whether he picked it up from spending so much time with him, or if this is just a natural stress response that happens to everybody. That thought lingers for a second and then passes, and he feels like his blood is fizzing, his bones are vibrating, every part of him is moving, shaking, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop, and he needs to make it stop, he needs to make it _stop,_ and he needs it to stop right now or he’s going to—

He crumples on the floor, gasping for breath, pulling at his hair, trying not to scream. He doesn’t want to move but he can’t stop moving, he can’t stop, he can’t, he can’t, he _can’t._

And then Abed is next to him, kneeling, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder.

“Jeff,” he says, loud enough that Jeff can hear him, but gentle enough not to startle him. “Can you lay on your stomach?”

Jeff doesn’t think, just twists and flops down on the carpet on his belly, and before he knows what’s happening Abed is laying on top of him, draped over as much of his body as possible.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, his lips next to Jeff’s ear.

“Yes,” Jeff gasps. “Can you—” He swallows. “Can you just stay like that?”

“Yeah,” Abed says.

And he does, he stays just like that as Jeff focuses on the pressure, the way he feels rooted to the floor, no longer in danger of floating away. He turns his attention to how Abed’s body feels against him, how warm he is, how strong, and the terrible bubbly feeling begins to die down, and he shifts his focus again, this time to his breath, and little by little he begins to relax.

He doesn’t know how much time passes until he finally feels ready to move, but even then he waits a little longer, just to be sure. Abed is like dead weight on him; Jeff can feel him breathing, but aside from that, Abed doesn’t move a muscle. 

“Thank you,” Jeff murmurs, because Abed’s ear is still right there. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened…”

“It’s okay,” Abed says gently. “Everything is okay. Do you want me to move?”

“I think so,” Jeff says, not trusting anything that comes out of his mouth, not knowing exactly _what_ he wants or needs in this moment.

Abed rolls off of him and stands up, then holds out a hand. Jeff takes it and Abed helps him to his feet, then leads him into the bedroom and tucks him into bed.

“We can take a nap if you want,” he offers. “Or watch TV. Or talk. Or you can check your text messages.”

“My text messages?” 

“The study group has been very active in the group chat,” Abed explains. “They’re all pretty worried about you.”

 _“Fuck,”_ Jeff says, remembering how he just _left,_ and how he made Abed send them away when they followed after him. He feels like an asshole, like he doesn’t deserve to even be _part_ of the study group, let alone its de facto leader. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe.

“Shh,” Abed says, climbing into the bed and putting his arms around Jeff. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Everybody will understand. You’re okay.”

Jeff wonders how many more times Abed will have to say those words before he begins to believe them.

Abed reaches into Jeff’s pocket and pulls out his phone, handing it to Jeff.

The group chat has 36 unread messages. Jeff rolls his eyes and taps it open, glancing only at the first few.

_SHIRLEY: Jeffrey, whenever you see this please know that I am praying for you!_

_BRITTA: We’re here if you need us, Jeff._

_ANNIE: Hope everything is okay, Jeff! <3 _

_TROY: abed, what time are u coming home?_

_TROY: i mean feel better jeff!_

**six**

_As they wait for the jury to deliberate on the final day, Jeff excuses himself to the restroom and locks himself in a stall. He falls to his knees and throws up, vaguely wondering what is even coming up, because he can’t remember the last time he ate. It’s painful, and he likes that. He deserves it. He clasps his hands and looks up at the ceiling and begs whoever might be up there to please, please let him lose this case, and then he throws up again, and then he gets up, rinses his mouth, and washes his hands._

_Before he leaves the bathroom he pulls a flask out of his inner pocket and drains it. On the way out, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he can’t decide if he looks great, the paleness accenting his sharp cheekbones, or if he looks like he’s about to die, bruises under his eyes and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Then he decides he doesn’t give a shit._

_The jury deliberates for only two hours, which is rare, and when they all reconvene in the courtroom for the verdict, Jeff surreptitiously presses his wrist hard against the corner of the table, letting the sharp pain keep him grounded. It’s almost over. Three years of this, and it’s finally almost fucking over._

_Jeff’s client is found guilty, and for the first time in his life, he’s relieved. Euphoric, even. He stays professional in the courtroom, though, keeping his gaze steely and his sentences short, and when his client starts to cry, he comforts her, and he hopes he’s doing a good job, but he has no idea, because he’s completely zoned out and on autopilot, and this woman is a monster, and he knows that, and thank god the jury knows it, too._

_He gets home that evening and his condo feels huge, much too big for one person, and he wonders what ever compelled him to get such a large place. He turns on every single light and bundles up in sweats, trying to make himself feel safe and warm. He makes a frozen pizza, and then he eats the entire thing and chases it with the rest of the open bottle of scotch from the other night._

_He’s already made up his mind about what he needs to do. He doesn’t see any other choice. He can’t keep going like this, can’t keep defending criminals that make his skin crawl. He can’t sit through any more of those photographs, testimonies, 911 calls. He doesn’t know why this is happening_ now, _why he’s breaking_ now, _why he can’t do his job_ now, _but it doesn’t matter. Because he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he will never, ever be able to do this again._

_Jeff grabs his laptop and opens up a word file, a short, two-sentence email that he’s been writing and rewriting for weeks now. It needs to be perfect. It needs not to sound like him. It needs to convey the right information._

_He creates a new gmail address for anonymity. He copies and pastes from the word document to the body of the email first, so he can’t send it accidentally before he’s ready, and then he reads it a few more times, feeling more confident with every swig from the bottle of beer in his hand. He doesn’t remember getting it from the fridge. He doesn’t even remember_ buying _it. Then he adds the address for the recipient._

TO: The Colorado Supreme Court Office of Attorney Regulation Counsel  
SUBJ: Anonymous Tip

To Whom It May Concern:

Jeffrey Tobias Winger is not in possession of a valid Bachelor’s degree from an accredited institution. He has been practicing illegally for the seven years since he passed the Colorado State Bar Exam. 

_Jeff chugs the rest of the bottle in his hand, hits “send,” and walks calmly to the bathroom to throw up the pizza, the scotch, the beer, and a whole lot of shame and panic. He falls asleep on the floor next to the toilet. He feels sick and disgusting and scared and exhausted and frustrated and confused, but somewhere among all of those feelings he thinks he feels a glimmer of relief, too._

_Two business days later, Jeff is called into Ted’s office and fired. He’s promised his job back once he can procure a Bachelor’s degree. Jeff argues and grumbles and then accepts it, striding out the door with his head held high. He can hear the other partners speculating amongst each other about who turned Jeff in as he makes his way to the front door of the building, and then he walks to the parking lot, gets in his car, and doesn’t look back._

_He still has nightmares about the trial, though, and he learns to avoid things like courtroom dramas on TV, and he does whatever he can not to think about it, to forget about the trial, to forget about all trials, to forget about all of it. When people ask about his former job, he tells them about the early years, defending people with DUIs, and he skips the part where he switched to criminal law, pretends it never happened. When he sees people from his old life, he turns the other way._

_He thinks that will be enough, and it seems like it will be, until the day he finds himself next to a therapy dog named Muffin, and he finally breaks._

**seven**

Jeff and Abed take a nap, Jeff clinging to Abed and tossing and thrashing in a fitful sleep. When they wake up Abed asks Jeff how he would feel about meeting up with the study group.

“I don’t want to see them,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I made a fool of myself this morning.”

“You didn’t,” Abed argues. “None of them are judging you, Jeff. They just love you.”

“They’re gonna ask questions,” Jeff shoots back. “They’re gonna want to know what happened, and why, and I can’t— I don’t want to talk about it, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want them to hear it. You can’t unhear shit like that.”

“I’ll talk to them first,” Abed says. “I’ll tell them not to ask questions.”

Jeff is torn, because he knows the study group _loves_ to ask questions, and he doesn’t know how Abed plans to shut them down. But at the same time, a part of him desperately _does_ want to see his friends, wants them to help him situate his brain back into his current life instead of getting stuck in his old one. And he thinks they could prove a nice distraction to the utter wreck of a human he currently seems to be.

“Fine,” Jeff finally says. “Just...see if they want to come over for dinner, I guess.”

Abed steps out to call Troy, and Jeff burrows deeper under the covers, not at all rested from his nap and still completely baffled about how quickly his day went from _fine_ to _this._ He’s nervous about his therapy appointment tomorrow, wondering if Sharon will give him a hard time for never mentioning any of this when he saw her previously on a regular basis. Truth be told, at a certain point, he did kind of block it out to the point that he forgot about it. He wonders if he could have kept that going indefinitely, if it hadn’t been for that dog.

Abed comes back, and Jeff changes into fresh clothes and tidies up around the apartment. He stops every so often so Abed can hold him tight and remind him that he’s okay, and he tries not to be embarrassed to need this, and Abed never makes him feel bad. In fact, he gives Jeff the impression he would do that forever if he needed it.

Their friends must have carpooled, because they all show up at the same time. Jeff answers the doorbell and Britta, Troy, Annie, and Shirley come filing in, and usually they’re all chaotically talking or yelling over one another, but this time everyone is silent, and Jeff wonders what Abed said to them. He appreciates it, because even the smallest things feel overwhelming right now, and it appears his friends might know and understand that.

Jeff ushers them inside and into the living room, and then he sits down on the couch, and before he knows it, Shirley is on his right side, holding his hand in hers, and Britta is on his left, leaning on his shoulder and draping her arm around him, and Troy and Abed are squished together on the love seat, and Annie is on the other side of Britta, sitting on her knees, braiding Britta’s hair. No one speaks.

Abed is the one to break the silence.

“Thanks for coming, you guys. And for being calm. I already ordered pizza.”

Troy twists towards Abed and they do their handshake, awkward in such close proximity, making them giggle. Annie says something to Troy, and then Abed asks Britta a question, and soon the four of them are congregated by the loveseat and Jeff and Shirley are alone on the couch.

Shirley pats Jeff’s hand. “You doing okay, pumpkin?” 

Jeff shrugs, and tries to speak, but the words get caught in his throat and he just sits there with his mouth open, eyes wide in panic. Luckily, Shirley seems to understand. 

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay?” she says softly. Jeff nods gratefully. 

It turns out to be an easy dinner. Annie and Britta are chatting about school, Troy and Abed get into an animated discussion about comic books, and Jeff clings to Shirley’s hand like an anchor, and even manages to eat a piece of pizza.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he eventually asks Shirley, when they’re done eating. She nods and scoots a little bit closer. “I was the one who sent the anonymous tip to the bar association, to turn myself in for not having a degree. I was a criminal defense attorney and I— I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t _take_ it anymore.” 

When he finishes speaking, he closes his eyes and rests his head on Shirley’s shoulder. She feels warm and safe. 

“You did what you had to do,” she says simply. “I’m proud of you, baby.” 

“Thanks, Shirley,” he whispers, feeling a tiny bit lighter. They sit together for the rest of the night. 

Jeff skips school the next day, because he’s still not okay and his therapy appointment is mid-morning. Abed stays with him overnight, and in the morning he gets dressed in the clothes Troy brought over for him and makes breakfast for himself and Jeff, and then he drives Jeff to Sharon’s office. He walks Jeff all the way inside and sits with him in the waiting room, holding his shaking hand until he’s called back.

Sharon is kind and understanding, and Jeff remembers why he liked her, wonders why he ever stopped meeting with her. She doesn’t get on his case for not telling her about the trial, instead spending their session listening to him recount what he’s been through, both now and back then. She introduces him to the concept of secondary trauma, which can happen when someone is exposed to the traumatic experiences of another person, and she tells him it’s more common than he probably believes, especially in certain professions like healthcare, social work, or even law.

She suggests he continue coming to see her for a while so they can work through this, and then hopefully the next time he’s exposed to some sort of trigger, it won’t affect him quite so much. And even if it does, he’ll know what to do. He agrees.

In Sharon’s office, Jeff feels like he can talk about the things he saw and heard about without having to worry about hurting one of his friends, or his boyfriend, and that’s very freeing for Jeff. She also validates him, his feelings and his actions and reactions, pointing out which ones are a trauma response that he has no control over. She tells him over and over and over that he’s not weak, that this isn’t his fault, and she doesn’t get annoyed when he needs her to say it just one more time, and then one more.

He rejoins Abed in the waiting room afterwards, and they walk to the car together. Outside, the sky is blue and birds are chirping, the air smells like fresh-cut grass and the car is sun-warm when they get into it. They roll down the windows, and Abed starts the car, and instead of heading to either Greendale or Jeff’s condo, he takes them to a park.

Abed takes Jeff’s hand and leads him to a patch of grass in the corner, hidden by trees so that they can see the people in the park but the people can’t see them. They sit down across from one another.

“Close your eyes,” Abed says. “Tell me what you smell.”

“Grass,” Jeff says, taking a deep breath. “Dirt.” He pauses. “Your cherry chapstick.”

“Good,” Abed says, and Jeff can hear the smile in his voice. “What do you hear?”

“Cars. Children laughing. Wind rustling the trees.”

“What can you touch? Feel with your hands?”

“Your jeans,” Jeff says, running a hand over Abed’s knee. “Grass and dirt, again. _My_ jeans. Maybe a few dandelions?”

“What can you taste?” Abed asks, and before Jeff can say anything Abed swoops forward and kisses him on the mouth.

“You,” Jeff says, grinning.

“Now open your eyes,” Abed says. “Tell me what you see.”

“You. Trees. Kids on the swings. Cars in the parking lot. Grass and dirt. The sky, and the clouds. The sidewalk. An old man on a bench. Those people playing tennis.”

“Good,” Abed says. “Next time you feel like you don’t belong in your body, or feel like you’re gonna float away, try to remember this. All the sensations. Try to let it bring you back.”

“Okay,” Jeff whispers, suddenly a little overwhelmed, but it’s the good kind of overwhelmed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Abed says. “That’s enough homework. Come here.” He pulls Jeff into his arms and holds him tight.

“I’m sor—” begins Jeff.

“Don’t apologize,” Abed gently interrupts. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m glad we’re here,” Jeff amends. “This feels safe.”

“Good,” Abed replies. “We can stay as long as you like.”


End file.
